There There

"There, there."

It was something my mom would say in consolation. I heard it often, accompanied by a hug, a smile, or a pat on the back.

There, there.

I don't know exactly what it meant, but I can still hear the love and the care and the presence and the touch.

Speaking of "there, there", I noted a subtle difference between the 50-30-somethings and the 20 somethings while at a post-wedding dinner in North Carolina recently. At a table of two dozen celebrants, all the 20 somethings kept their phones on their laps and were texting on and off throughout the dinner.

No. Really. All of them.

They were there, but they weren't really there there.

My Bishop lost his younger brother Andrew Rogness a month ago. Andrew had been serving at Prince of Peace Lutheran in Roseville. He sent all the pastors in the synod a note on the event yesterday. Here's a snippet:

Our family saw June 30 coming. Andrew was diagnosed with stage four cancer in August 2007, given two to five years to live, and began his journey. My father modeled for me how to grow old with grace; Andrew modeled how to face death with grace. There was no escape to denial; he spoke candidly about his cancer, of his condition, and about the question of life expectancy that was now front and center. Yet he refused to become fatalistic or morose, angry or depressed. Instead he seemed to live each day in even more vivid color, seeing and naming more clearly the abundant blessings that he now saw were his, past and present. He savored life, with grace and gratitude even more pronounced.
 
Many of you who have accompanied someone dying of a terminal illness know this to be a paradoxical journey of both deep pain and rich blessing. The prolonged agony of knowing life with all its relationships is slipping away is accompanied by the opportunity to name and dwell in the abundance of love that gives life its fullness. Andrew and Patti moved to the Cities a year or two before Gerry and I came in 2002. Like most of you, we were busy with the claims of work and our own families and activities. Sometimes weeks would go by without seeing each other. We probably spent more time together since August 2007 than in the 20 years before that. And in the process, this truth emerged: that when life is tenuous, life's priorities gain new clarity. I think we all know it. We just aren't good at practicing it when we're not at a crisis point.
 

Does it take a crisis in order for you to live like it matters? Love like it matters? Be present in people's lives with your whole self and complete attention like it matters?

Live today. Love today. Be present today.

Here, here.

Hear?

(Art above from "The Parable of the Sower" in our new "The Songs of Israel" Bible Song themeset)

Comments

[Jerry Wirtley]

Wonderful thoughts on living life and living in the moment, the here and now. As a leader in the church, I work in an office and work with my door open most of the time. This is a good thing for people dropping in, however one of the members of the church asked how I get anything done with the door open all the time. I responded that the ministry we are called to do is in the interruptions, not in what we think is important.

I try to make myself available at all times, and that is not necessarily good, as I am not always in the here and now. I am like the 20 somethings with the phone out and seeing who is emailing or texting, or twittering, or facebooking... rather than being in the here and now. We need to be aware of the interruptions, but not so aware of the interruptions we lose sight of what is happening in front of us!